Hushed Willows namárië!

There and back again . . .

Or so it would seem!  Though the lands from which he'd hailed had become broken and upturned, the landmarks were still enough to tell a seasoned scout (young as he was) that he was approaching home.  He could see the bough of the willows sway in the wind as he approached and it stirred something in his heart that he had not ever known himself to miss.

Eleuthera was gone.  His littermate, his soul-tie, his anam cara.  He couldn't remember how.  He knew he was at her side, and then his mind went cloudy when he tried to remember. Surely he must've fallen, for when he woke he was trapped beneath dirt and stone, and he couldn't remember going down.  When he woke he had tried to find her but no trace of her scent remained.  No matter how he probed at that misty spot, he could find no answer.  Perhaps they had separated before his fall, and that's why she was gone — she never would've left him injured and alone!  

It did him no good to dwell.  He'd had to keep moving, for winter was  close upon them. In his heart of hearts, though he missed her so terribly, he knew that a spitfire like his sister would be fine without him.  They would find each other again, so long as he could keep himself alive.  

Thus, the decision was made.  To make it through the frozen months and to cure his lonesome heart, he would return home.  Reuniting with his mothers and childhood friends would do him well!  As he came closer to  the willows his pace picked up; his tongue rolled out of his mouth as he broke into a sprint, grinning all the while.  He crossed the borders, and as soon as he did he knew something was wrong — Elysium had remained the sanctuary he knew, but the borders were gone.  He skid to a halt, sliding on a patch of ice, and tread more carefully to the heart of the territory.

Where was Mali, creeping close to the borders?  Where was Delight, hiding in the shadows?  Why had Lily not come to greet him?  Why did he not hear Ibis' laughter?  Why was it so quiet?

There — !

Cloaked in white with limbs like branches!  Mama! he cried, the tip of his tail wagging lightly as he broached the hill, and although heart might betray him his eyes could not.  Her back was bare where twisted knots bore sign of some otherwordly injury; fangs could not have created the patterns that traced down her spine.  His tentative smile fell in an instant as he cast his gaze to the ground and there she was,

Mama?  His voice caught in his throat as his eyes, usually soft and caramel-warm, snapped back to the woman — witch! — and back to his mother's frail body twisted on the ground.  Beneath her frail white limbs was his other mama, the one he hadn't gotten to know as well, though he'd loved her just the same.  They were too hard and frozen for the woman standing above them to have hurt them, and there was no blood left on the ground.

Whatever trace of anger had clouded his expression before fell and guilt clouded his face instead — for judging the innocent woman before him, for absconding on some childish dream to travel all the lands as his mothers passed without him.  Tears sprung forth, and his lip trembled as he struggled to address the woman before him.  Did you know them?  His tone was pleading, urgent, as he lowered his head and crept closer to what was left of his fallen family.